Thanks to reader “borstalboy” for requesting this week’s review. As always, for instructions on how to request the next review for this feature (to run the afternoon of Thursday, July 3 due to the holiday) see the bottom of this post.
On the surface, Faithless tells a story that’s been told thousands of times before. It’s a story of infidelity, with the fortyish Marianne (Lena Endre) falling in love with family friend David (Krister Henriksson), and leaving her husband Markus (Thomas Hanzon) to be with him. It’s an age-old story, familiar from plenty of novels, plays and films. There are numerous ways the story could play, perhaps as a thriller or a domestic melodrama. But in the end Faithless is neither of these, due in large part to a character I haven’t yet mentioned- the key character in the story. He’s a director played by Erland Josephson, who’s aging, thoughtful, solitary. A man not unlike Ingmar Bergman.
Faithless, directed by Liv Ullmann from a screenplay by Bergman, is not so much the story of a love affair as it is the story of the memory of that affair and the deep and painful scars it left on the lives of all it touched. The film begins and ends with the director, who sits at his desk to write down the story, and much of the story is structured as a dialogue between the director and his characters. Most of the time, we see him talking to Marianne- or more precisely listening to her- as she tells him her story. Yet whose story is it? In the film’s opening scene, we see the director conjure Marianne as if from thin air, emerging from the shadows as his conception of her comes into focus. But where did this conception come from?
More than most films, Faithless practically demands a level of familiarity with both the personal and professional lives of its makers. Bergman was, of course, one of the world’s greatest and most celebrated filmmakers, and Ullmann his frequent leading lady and muse. Offscreen, she was also his lover- hardly his first and certainly not his last- and his treasured friend as well. In many ways, Marianne feels like a surrogate of Ullmann, and Bergman can be seen not only in the director (Josephson was his closest friend) but also in the distant, severe David.
So what did Bergman and Ullmann hope to accomplish in making Faithless? Perhaps, to its makers, the film represented a shared act of empathy. It’s significant that 
the director imagines Marianne- not David or even Markus- as his story’s central player. By seeing the unfortunate series of events through her eyes, the director (and, one presumes, Bergman) finally comes to understand the emotional toll this had on her, albeit many years after the fact. But the understanding goes both ways, as Ullmann frequently makes use of Josephson’s face in reaction shots. At various points, we even see him reacting in pain or horror even before Marianne tells him what happened, in anticipation of what she’s about to say. It’s as though there’s a dialogue going on right before our eyes between writer and director, with Bergman apologizing for all the pain he’s caused and Ullmann reminding him of how deeply it hurt, even as she forgives him his sins.
Given his status as a master filmmaker, it’s tempting to watch Faithless solely as en film av Ingmar Bergman. But Ullmann’s own contributions to the film should not be underestimated. Visually, the film has a lushness and warmth that isn’t characteristic of Bergman films, which makes it more effective when Ullmann employs Bergman’s more clinical style in the scenes between Josephson and Endre, as well as key moments involving the character of David. But where the difference between the two filmmakers is most apparent comes in the characterizations. Bergman’s characters usually come off as archetypes, personifications of the psychological traumas or anxieties inherent to the stories they inhabited, and this suited his filmmaking perfectly. But the characters in Faithless have broader emotional palettes than the residents of Bergman’s world. Seen in their flashback scenes, they’re capable of joy and sorrow and passion, and of becoming caught up in the moment. Look at the scene where Markus discovers Marianne and David in bed together. As Markus tries to sort out his feelings, David keeps chuckling to himself, not out of cruelty but because he’s embarrassed at not wearing any pants. In turn, Marianne can’t help but chuckle as well, even as she wrestles with her own emotions. I can’t imagine Bergman directing this scene in this way, but it works perfectly.
Looking back at my review, I can’t help but notice that I’ve barely touched upon the acting in the film, although every performance is ideal, especially Lena Endre as Marianne. And I have devoted very little space to the film’s infidelity storyline which occupies the great majority of the film’s 2 ½ hour running time. But you can find great acting and stories of infidelity in any number of movies. What makes Faithless truly special is the way it presents two great cinematic artists- friends, collaborators, ex-lovers- trying to make peace with each other. In her final act of graciousness, Ullmann lets the camera rest on the director, alone once again, as he tries to piece together his memories so that he can write them down. After all, at this point in his life, what else can he do?
Previously on Reviews by Request:
The New Kids (1985, Sean S. Cunningham)
Lone Wolf and Cub: Sword of Vengeance (1972, Kenji Misumi)
Zulu (1964, Cy Endfield)
Baxter (2000, Jérôme Boivin)
So, what movie would you like me to review for the next installment of Reviews by Request? Let me know in the comments section below. To refresh your memory, here are the rules for requesting a movie to be reviewed: (1) it has to be a movie I haven’t seen, (2) it has to be available through Netflix, and (3) please only request one film. Other than that, anything is fair game. First to suggest a movie that qualifies gets their requested review. See you a week from Thursday!